Secret Solace
by WhiteScreen
Summary: After an unsuccessful investigation, Larimer Finch needs unconditional comfort and knows of only one place he can find it, no questions asked. One Shot.


PEACEMAKERS: Secret Solace

Premise: After an unsuccessful investigation, Larimer Finch needs unconditional comfort and knows of only one place he can find it, no questions asked. One Shot.

Disclaimer: Don't own them, just borrowing them for a bit.

It was 3 am and even in Silver City good times have to finish at some point. When he braved the street, he found it quiet as the grave. Up ahead, the lights were still on in the saloon but they would be clearing up for later on.

Larimer Finch made his way towards it, casting a glance sideways at the jail like a guilty child with a pocket full of stolen sweets. Why did it matter if he was seen? _Because you're an officer of the law. Officers of the law do not frequent saloons or.. or…. Go on, say it…or brothels._

But in his heart, Finch knew it was not the townspeople seeing him that he feared. It was one person in particular who would not understand, who would _misunderstand_ in the most grievous furious way possible. And Finch knew why, because he was treading on memories, painful history, and he did not wish to, but he could not help it.

He could not resist it, no more than he could resist the urge to breathe.

So he continued on his way, walking a little faster, trying not to appear furtive or scuttling and finally, gratefully, eased his way through the swinging doors. The barman was the only person in sight, brushing up dust, dirt, broken glass and finding within the pile of detritus a nickel, which he pocketed.

"Can I help you, deputy?" he asked, looking up suspiciously. Finch stared at the man levelly. Suddenly he felt a fool. What was he going to do? What was he going to say?

For once, he was lost for words. And then a blessed angel descended to the landing of the stairs, blonde hair gleaming like a halo in the light from the still burning chandelier.

"Go on, Bert. I'll finish up. You turn in."

Bert shrugged his shoulders and pushed the broom behind the bar. He nodded to Luci and trudged out through the main doors. Finch watched as Luci descended to the tables, a wine coloured shawl gathered around her shoulders.

"So, detective. It's a little late for an official visit, isn't it? If you're after a drink, I'm afraid you'll need to come back later."

Finch hesitated, then absolutely certain he was a damn fool, turned sharply and started out the door.

"For god's sake, mister, I was only kidding you. Come back here. Come on, detective," she added, not unkindly.

Finch hesitated, then did as he was told. Where else could he go at this time of night where he would not feel under observation, where he would not feel interrogated?

Luci was behind the bar. She opened a bottle of whiskey and set up two glasses, which she filled half way. She pushed one towards Finch. He swallowed it in one gulp, and then coughed violently as the powerful smoky liquid burned its way down his throat.

Luci smiled and leaned across to slap his back as he face turned red. "Don't choke on me, detective. I might have some explaining to do to Jared in the morning if you go and do something stupid like that."

The way his head shot up at the mention of the name, Luci knew she'd erred. She refilled Finch's glass and watched him drink a little more slowly this time.

"So, I'm guessing it's not official, then. You being here?" Or with Jared's knowledge, she added silently.

Finch opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He lowered his head, and lost himself in the amber dregs in his glass. Luci sighed. She came around the bar and climbed onto a stool next to him.

"I heard what happened," she volunteered. One of them had to make a start on it, and she'd been with enough men to be as near to an expert on the subject as any one could be. Here was a man who wanted to tell what was roiling instead of him but needed someone to lead the way.

As a matter of fact, everyone in town had been talking about it, and not many of them had kind words to say. Fact was, Stone was reasonably well respected in this town; he'd been here a long time and he was the kind of lawman who dealt with more than the law. People knew they could come to him; he didn't pretend to be more than he was and he sure wouldn't make out he was smarter than anyone else.

But Finch was something different. He was an outsider for starters, and Luci knew more than anyone how the people of Silver City hated outsiders – from inside this saloon she could watch Silver City the way Finch watched his experiments. Unless you were a whore of course – if you were a whore being an outsider didn't matter because you were a necessary part of the town then, like the livery stable or the restaurant next to the emporium.

And what was worse – Finch was smarter than most people, excepting maybe Katie Owens. She had them pegged about level – Finch knew more but that didn't make him smarter. Katie could know as much but when her mom died she had to come home to take on her responsibilities. If it hadn't been for that, she reckoned Katie would know just as much as Larimer Finch.

She knew Finch didn't intentionally go around advertising how clever he was – it was just that helping Jared solve murders and the like meant he had to use those brains of his and while he wasn't making a song and dance of his talents he wasn't going to hide his light under a bushel either. The thing with Finch was he just didn't realise that a lot of people around here thought he was a cockystuck up know it allfrom Chicago who ought to go back there. They'd gotten on fine before he showed up; they'd cope as well if he went.

Of course, Eric Sopher might feel differently. He'd be dead now without Finch. But people had strange memories that could pick and choose what things to reason on at any one minute depending on their mood. And today, more than one man in this saloon, more than one man in Luci's bed, and smirked and said "About time!"

"If you want to talk about it, then you should probably say something," she suggested.

Finch filled his own glass again; Luci had not touched hers. "I was so sure we'd solve this one, Luci. But we haven't. That boy is dead and whoever did it is walking around, laughing at us because he's gotten away with murder."

She sat silently, not watching him, at least openly. Anyone else might have thought this was more about Finch's ego taking a battering but Luci could sense otherwise. Finch was more like Stone than perhaps he realised; the thought of someone escaping justice for a crime committed; a life taken, something stolen, a line crossed – it was like swallowing poison. She remembered not too long ago, Jared Stone sitting by her, not more than a few stools from where Finch sat now, sitting likewise lost and floundering as he tried to make reason of his apparent failure to do what he was trained and employed to do.

A sudden crack made her jump. The whiskey glass in Finch's hand had shattered into shards and glinting fragments, some gleaming with red streaks. Luci shook her head and grabbed a towel from behind the bar. "Good Lord, detective."

"Sorry." He opened his fist and some of the glass fell away but several shards remained in the gash in his hand.

"Upstairs," Luci instructed and took his arm, leading him off the stool and up to her room on the top floor of the saloon.

He made no protest as she closed the door – probably not a good idea to let any of the girls, up and wandering around, see him here - and sat him on the bed. She opened a box of bandages and gauze and used some tweezers to ease the glass fragments from his hand. Then she covered it with gauze and a bandage. If it hurt he gave no sign, he did not flinch or hiss at her touch.

Finally, she put away the box and sat next to him. Suddenly, and to her total surprise, Finch leaned sideways to her and lowered his head to her shoulder. Luci slipped her hand onto his thigh then turned to put her arms around him. She lowered him onto the bed, and moved until she was astride him. Leaning forward, her blonde hair cascaded over his face as her lips touched his, imparting warmth and companionship.

Would he have known that not so long again this was how she had cured a crisis of confidence that Jared Stone had as well? No, and he would not. Sometimes comfort came in the most unexpected of forms.

The End


End file.
